Pie: A Journal In Four Parts
by Reichenbach
Summary: Journal Entries from the personal logs of a certain mad clown.
1. 1

Disclaimer: I don't own. I don't make any money from this, but if DC felt like throwing some my way, I wouldn't object.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: A Journal Entry from the personal logs of a certain mad clown.  
  
Pie: A Journal in One Part By The Clown Prince of Crime  
  
**  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Today I killed some people. I can't really remember how many. Death is such a relative thing. I mean. sometimes it's better to kill more, sometimes its better to kill well. I guess it depends on how your day's going. I think I killed a marginal mount of people in a marginally creative way. Kinda split down the middle (quantity versus quality that is, actually the people in question were beaten to death with frozen fish).  
  
There were, of course, the folks that killed to get out of Arkham, who were not beaten to death with frozen fish. Actually, I didn't kill that MANY to get out, and I didn't even kill them well. One I electrocuted with the live wires from the security system around my cell. He lit up like a Christmas tree, and his eyeballs burned. Smelly, yet kinda nifty too, if I do say so myself. The niftiness doesn't make up for the fact that his fat dead carcass slid down the wall and his hot, smoldering face landed on my shoe.  
  
Then there were the two officers that came charging me, when the alarm was raised that their favorite patient had gotten loose. Trust me, you have to hit REALLY hard with a night stick to impale someone on it. You have to drive it even harder if you want to impale TWO of them.  
  
I was just going to smash their skulls in. I considered it my Christmas present to myself-reliving the euphoric joy of killing SmartAss Robin® all those years ago. But then Harley starts whining like a white-faced banshee about how I, her Puddin', couldn't possibly plan on leaving her there to rot.  
  
Of course I could. I was absolutely perfectly contented with the prospect of being on one side of the Arkham Asylum gates, and her being on the other. The woman's a leach that just won't die. I don't believe in God, but I believe in Satan. And I think Satan sent her to torment me.  
  
Ok, it was fun to lead her on during our therapy sessions, back when she was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Bat your eyes here, smile sweetly there, hoping to get a ticket out of that crap hole they call an asylum. And it worked too, she helped me escape. Sadly, however, the demented little creature followed me. It's a cruel world. Beyond cruel. I TRY to drive that snivel-nosed beacon of justice, Gordon, nuts by crippling and violating his baby girl then tormenting him for like. a week or something (time's relative too. All I know is I tortured him for a good long time). I kill the Bat's kid, then remind him of it constantly. and they're still as sane as the day is long (if a man who dresses up as a bat and a guy who works with him can be called sane). And all I try to do is lead on one psychiatrist, and BOOM. I drive her nuts.  
  
Life isn't fair.  
  
SO, I've wasted enough paper on that bane of my existence, Harley Quinn. This diary is about getting in touch with my inner psychopath, so I'm going to concentrate on that for now.  
  
Pie would be really good right now. Cherry pie. No, pumpkin, with gingerbread men on top. Real men on top is ok, but that's only good if you like warm pumpkin pie because man-meat cooks funny and doesn't taste good cold. I wonder if strawberry pie is in season?  
  
All the other people I kill today. Well, after I got out of the "Special Cases" wing, I snapped the necks of a bunch of miscellaneous people between here and the front gate, and then I stole the car of some loser who worked here, but now doesn't because she didn't report for work because she's still in the trunk of said car. If she's still alive later, when go out for peach pie and pickled okra, I'll bring her inside and torture her. It's too cold to be out in this kind of weather, after all.  
  
Oh yeah, and the fish.  
  
The fish was great. Mid-day jail break, so I expect minimal interference from the Bat-brigade. Which was kind of silly. The whole affair was pretty high on the niftiness scale, actually. No Daddy Bat, but by the time I got to the docks, I had Bat-Brats one and two waiting for me. The girl is nuts. I am not really all that sane, but she's certifiable. You can see in her eyes she's a killer.  
  
Actually, you can't see her eyes. The weird full-face mask takes care of that. But if you COULD see her eyes, you'd see that she's stone cold. At least I'm creative and I have that going for me. She's some kind of efficiency expert. I deduced that much with my wild and raging intellect that one time when she broke me out of Arkham so she could fight me (see- complete and total sociopath, I have no idea why the Bat keeps her on).  
  
Moving on. and she's there, and Quipless Robin® is with her. And he's scowling, doing his best impression of Daddykins, telling me how I'm going back to Arkham, and there aren't going to be any more deaths, bla bla bla. pie.  
  
Batgirl tells him to stay put, and he scowls, and then her hand snaps out, and just drops the kid, just like that. He's unconscious on top of the main shipping building.  
  
Meanwhile, I'm using this brilliant exchange of teenage camaraderie and big sister protectiveness to make my way towards the fishing ship next to said building. There was this whole scuffle thing where she landed on me and pushed me to the ground then slammed her fist into my head, but that's not important.  
  
The part that's REALLY important is where I grabbed hold of the nearest crate and pulled myself out of her grasp, then tossed a net at her. It didn't unfurl and cover her or anything. It just dumped right into her arms and tangled around her, and I shot upward and just climbed right up those crates, I did. When I was about twenty feet up, I found a crowbar. I LOVE crowbars. Fuzzy memories of SmartAss Robin® Getting his comeuppance.  
  
I knew I wasn't going to be able to wack Speedy Gonzolas Bat, so I did the only sensible thing. I drove the end of that piece of metal between the boards of the crate I was standing on and pried the front wall loose. A million frozen fish, completely with ice came pouring out. The girl flipped backward, and I tried to hide my glee. Not only was she further away from me now, but I had a million frozen fish to play with.  
  
Blah blah blah, got away by threatening the life of the still unconscious Boy Blunder, a million frozen fish. I guess it was a lot of people, I mean, its seven miles between the docks and Secret Lair #137.  
  
I had some nice quiet time by myself to plot and scheme. It's kind of expected that I'll do something magnificent and destructive in my time away from The Can. I have a scheme involving ground beef and a dozen anti- aircraft missles developing in my little noggin. Sadly this was inevitably interrupted by Harley screaming out for her Puddin' to come and give her some shugah (she REALLY needs to stop reading those X-Men comics). I knocked her unconscious about an hour ago, so I finally had the "me" time to write in my diary. Dr. Arkham says it's important. It's the key to self- discovery, after all.  
  
So, Diary. My reflections on today: there were some things I could have improved upon. I could have actually killed a Bat-brat. I could have been more creative and less blunt with the fish. I had some successes today too. I think I put Harley in a coma. Hopefully she won't wake up.  
  
Well, it's time for pie and okra.  
  
All-in-all, I'd say it was a pretty good day.  
  
~*~  
  
The end. 


	2. 2

Dear Diary.  
  
Today was day two of sweet blissful freedom. Harley is still in the coma. Hence the blissfulness of my freedom. Its very quiet without her yapping. Too quiet. I need a gang.  
  
This morning, I was finishing the last of the peach pie. I was split between a bowl of Cookie Crisp, and leftover pie. So I put the pie in a bowl and poured milk over it. I find that an acceptable compromise.  
  
I was reading the news paper today, trying to perfect my evil scheme. There wasn't much of note. That stupid rich slob, Wayne, is having another charity auction at his humble abode. I suppose I can always go and invade that. Killing rich people can be fun. under the right circumstances. Robbery is a little plebeian, and quite frankly, at this juncture, beneath my talents. But mayhem and torture, followed by robbery. That's classic. Classic like a black tie affair.  
  
Speaking of a black tie affair, I really should do something to mark the event. What's the fun of a celebrity charity auction, if you don't crash?  
  
Actually, at this point, I'd be helping them by killing them.  
  
If I let them live, they'd just keep going on being boring, rich and stuckup. Flee-brained Bruce Wayne included. But if I kill them all.  
  
That is where the fun begins. Not only do I get that warm fuzzy glow that death and destruction bring, but they get memorialized. Lets face it. People are always remembered much better when they're dead, then when they're alive. Right now, Bruce Wayne is a scatter-brained, womanizing idiot who frequently has streaks of guilt that cause him to toss enormous amounts of money at any 'cause' that crosses his path.  
  
If I kill him, he becomes philanthropist Bruce Wayne who's heart was too big for everyone. including the ladies. He wasn't too bright, but he had a clear sense of justice and compassion instilled in him by his wonderful, yet deceased parents. This beacon of light wasn't quelled by their untimely and violent demise, but only shined more brightly in thick black fog of Gotham's night.  
  
Pretty damned good memoir of a rich, stupid jerk, huh?  
  
It's a service I provide, really. I make people more interesting, and relieve them of the burden of their existence.  
  
Kevorkian was misunderstood too.  
  
So. Anyways. An evil plan forming.  
  
I hate it when the creative streak run out. What was blocking my creative flow was that I had to have all of this done by Wednesday. I plan to go out with a bang. I know this little jaunt into freedom really isn't going to go anywhere. Usually I had a long time to plan these escapes, and exactly what I would do once free, but there was a time constraint this time around.  
  
Actually, there WOULDN'T have been, if I'd have known in advance that they were going to stop doing screenings of new films at Arkham. Those vicious bastards made me sit through Titanic (and NO amount of death caused by a cold icy grave will make up for the stupid love story). But those jerks can't fly in Two Towers.  
  
So I busted out. I have to kill a bunch of people, then take over a movie theater so I can watch the first showing. Easy enough, and yet creatively restricted. So, tomorrow I'll make Bruce Wayne more interesting, and then Wednesday I'll have my improved reenactment of the Biograph (This time instead of the villain, Dillan being shot to death out front, the villain gets to shoot everyone to death inside. It's going to be so nifty).  
  
I am going to need explosives, semi-automatic weapons, a gang, and more pie.  
  
I guess I'd better get to work, diary. Talk to you tomorrow. 


	3. 3

I don't own etc. First chapter is rated Arr. I think all subsequent chapters are rated Pee Gee, so I rated it Pee Gee overall.  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Today was a stupid day.  
  
Harley's still in a coma, thank God. I don't think I could take her efforts to assuage my pain.  
  
First of all, I wanted more pie. I ate all the peach pie, and I went to the bakery for some blueberry pie. It was speaking to my human condition. But they didn't have the kind with the glaze on top, so I killed the pock-faced teenager behind the counter and took all the Pac-Man sugar cookies. THEY had sugar on top.  
  
I think the kid tripped a silent alarm when he saw me come in, too, because it was a narrow escape. I don't think he was aware of the arrangement I had with his old man-I get pie, and he doesn't die. Sadly the young pup will never get the joke now.  
  
So I decided to move on to bigger and better things-I had the Wayne function to deal with, after all.  
  
I got there at about nine, all prepared to maim and kill and such, and first of all, Wayne gives me the evil eye. I should have known right then and there, that things weren't going to work out, but did I listen to myself? NO. I thought that persistence would win out in the end.  
  
Next thing I know, I see a ripple of yellow cape outside one of the enormous French doors in the ballroom. Not much, just enough to tell me that the evil eye hex is working (damn Bruce Wayne and his evil eye!).  
  
Mind you, ten years ago, I'd have had a bigger declaration than that coming that my time was up, as StupidPuns Robin ® and SmartAss Robin ® both had that bright red vest and that glaring yellow cape. This one. all's I get is a tiny warning. Still, all things considered, you'd think they could take a hint from their Big Bad Bat-dad ® and kill the blindingly bright colors.  
  
Anyways, the next thing I know, glass is being broken, Boy Blunder is apologizing to that egghead Wayne, and just as I'm spinning around, gun in hand, to gauge pretty-boy's reaction, my face somehow rams right into his elbow. What the hell kind of idiot flails around like that, really? It aint like he's never been robbed before, that's how his sainted parents met their demise. But the boob is still panicking all over the place, and now my nose is broken.  
  
I had get completely plebian (as if the mere thought of robbery isn't plebian enough) and grab one of the long tablecloths on one of the tables, and yanked it towards me, sending everything on the table flying up in the air. I ducked under the table, and out the window Quipless Robin ® just busted through.  
  
And that's not even the worst part, Diary. The worst part is that Wayne sicced the dogs on me! The stupid things looked like they were fed well, but they still wanted to eat me. I kept trying to explain that clown meat just wasn't very tasty. But just when I got near the stone wall I'd hopped over to get inside there, ol' Batty's waiting. It took me like an hour to lose him. Fortunately I had transportation near by, and he didn't, which gave me like a thirty second head start, but I lost him. All by myself.  
  
I need a gang.  
  
So, I came back to my secret hideout and ate the rest of the cookies, lamenting on how tonight was a bust. Life's not fair and cookies are my only friend.  
  
I hope tomorrow's better. I've got Two Towers coming up, which is a real highlight, and the chance to kill at least 398 people including the projectionist (that's how many the theatre seats) all in one sitting. I'll get me some popcorn and root for the Orcs, even if they are savage and have no finesse.  
  
Well, diary. Wish me luck.  
  
~*~ 


	4. 4

Disclaimers in part one.  
  
Pie. A Journal in Four Parts **  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
I wasn't planning on killing all of them, it just happened. Well, I did plan on killing all the patrons, and that worked out pretty well. You know the old schtick, pump the lethal laughing gas through the theatre, then go for it.  
  
There was only one person who I needed to keep alive, the projectionist. And alive he stayed. For nearly three hours.  
  
But it was horrible.  
  
Not the movie, that was terrible and bloody and a lot of elves died. Damned elves. And Harley was still in the coma, so it was the first time she ever kept her yapper shut during a movie, but the projectionist.  
  
I can only be thankful that he died horribly.  
  
Every time the stupid kid went to change reels, the whole image shook. I yelled once or twice, but mostly ignored it. This was my day. This was my hour. I was sitting in a theatre full of dead people, watching the Orcs make MORE dead people (and dead elves), 70 foot wide, larger than life, and in Technicolor. Thank god for Technicolor.  
  
What really burned my butter is that he shut off the projector before the movie was over! The credits are still part of the movie! I'd turn him in to the union, if he weren't in several pieces stashed in various locations through out the Cineplex. My best work was the bloody red head buried in the goldeny yellow popcorn. Running his intestines through the projector was just something I did for fun.  
  
But really, I was going to let the kid go. Till he stopped the projector in the middle of the credits. I was READING that list of extras!  
  
I dumped Harley outside one of those clinics, you know, the free ones. Just opened the car door and pushed her out. It was nice finally getting to see ONE movie from beginning to end without the editorial comments, but. really.  
  
I thought about killing her to put her out of her misery (or at least out of mine), but I realized-if I did that, then she wouldn't live to be tortured another day. And really, what use is she other than that?  
  
Well, Diary, today was a successful day. Since I'm still running free and all. I thought for sure my ass would be in the can by now. I suppose I should focus my attention on coming up with a plan.  
  
Life gets tedious sometimes, y'know?  
  
Time for bed. I'm out of pie and the hyenas just ate the last of the projectionists' innards. I'll tell you all about my plans tomorrow.  
  
~*~ 


End file.
